


Calendar Confetti

by Pixelady



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: I hope this is good though, I'm bad at tags, M/M, Post series finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelady/pseuds/Pixelady
Summary: "It was silly, really.  Childish and corny.  But he didn’t care.As soon as he saw the calendar he grabbed it off of the shelf and took it home.  He flipped back through the months, marking off days since Connor went to prison.  Then, he ripped the months out of the calendar and meticulously cut out each square until he was left with ‘X’ marked confetti."Or....Oliver comes up with a unique way of handling Connor's incarceration.
Relationships: Oliver Hampton/Connor Walsh
Comments: 34
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I don't know if anyone is even alive in this fandom, but thanks to Netflix I've just discovered the wonderful world of Coliver. This is also my first attempt at Fanfiction. Please let me know what you think.

Connor had told him not to wait. Connor had told him to move on and find someone better. But Connor had said that so many times at this point that he didn’t even hear it anymore.

Besides, he had never let Connor dictate his life before and like hell he was going to start now.

He knew there was no one else; not for him. There never would be. And really, in the grand scheme of things, 5 years wasn’t all that long. Certainly not when it meant Connor was his reward for waiting.

It was hard at first. He had trouble falling asleep. Not because he was lonely, even though he was, but because he kept imagining Connor in that place. Cold, alone. In a hard bed. Surrounded by people who didn’t care about him. Connor thought it was what he deserved, and maybe it was, but that didn’t bring him any peace of mind.

The first two weeks he was more or less numb to it. It was still new enough that he was able to trick himself into thinking Connor was just on a trip, that he’d be back soon. But as the first month rolled around he found it was harder and harder to pretend. He gave up trying after 6 weeks.

He decided to visit him for the first time after that: to make it real.

However, he found out there was far more involved than just getting up and going to the prison. He was momentarily envious of Annalise and the others who could so easily get in with one simple phrase, ‘I’m his lawyer’. 

He had to make an appointment. They would let him know in a few days if he had been approved. 

He had to get a list of do’s and don'ts. There were obvious ones about not bringing in contraband - his thrill seeking days were behind him anyways and he wasn’t about to risk getting Connor in any more trouble than he was already in. Then there were strange ones about what kind of clothes he could wear. He made sure he memorized them all.

Then he got a call back by the prison administrator. His appointment had been denied. He wasn’t on Connor’s list of visitors.

“But I’m his husband.” He answered, baffled. He had never signed the divorce papers. He still had them, but only so he could burn them in front of Connor once he was released.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded sincere, at least. “But I can’t approve your appointment unless you’re on the list.”

Oliver was silent for a moment, trying to process this unexpected hurdle. “Well, how do I get on the list? Do I need to bring our marriage certificate or -?”

“Mr. Walsh dictates who is on the list.” She sounded uncomfortable as she said that.

Oliver just rolled his eyes. Of course. Of course he would keep him off. That stupid, masochistic, asshole. 

He sighed and rubbed at his face in annoyance. “Is there a way for me to talk to Connor without being on the list?” He asked.

“Not in person, but you’re able to send him mail. I can email you the instructions.” She explained.

“That would be great, thanks.”

He gave her his information and just a few minutes later he was given another list of do’s and don'ts, along with directions on how to make sure it got to Connor. He kept the letter brief. It was only a few lines and simply asked to be added to the list. He played dumb, pretending he didn’t know Connor had done this on purpose to try and freeze him out.

He never got an answer. 

He wasn't bothered. He was onto Connor and knew the man hadn't meant it when he said he didn't love him. Feelings didn't just turn off. There was so much more to them than lies and murder. There were twist-ties, and cuddling under the blankets, and crossword puzzles, and so many more wonderful things that made his heart flutter. He was going to fight for all of those things.

Two weeks later when he called to make an appointment he was told that he still wasn’t on the list.

It had been just over two months now. Connor’s pillow didn’t smell like him anymore. He had taken to spraying his cologne on it to try and pretend.

He sent another letter. This time he made sure Connor knew that _he_ knew what he was doing and that it wasn’t going to work. That he wasn’t going to move on, so he might as well just let him come visit.

He never got an answer to that one either.

He still wasn’t added to the visitor list.

Oliver tried again. This time he practically begged Connor to let him come see him. He told him how much he missed him and how lonely he felt. He told him he wasn’t sleeping and he was scared. He put in every desperate plea he could think of to get Connor to change his mind.

No answer.

No list.

He was thinking of another tactic to use to get Connor to stop being so stupid when Gemma unexpectedly stopped by.

“Oh, hey?” It was more of a question than a greeting.

“Hey Oliver. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Make sure you’re okay.” She told him and gave him a hug. It had been a while since anyone had touched him, he realized. It felt good.

“I’m fine.” He answered even though he still hadn’t let her go. As soon as he said the words, however, he let out a sob. Because nothing was fine. His husband was in prison and wouldn’t talk to him. He was lonely. He was scared that he’d never see him again. He was hurt. He was heartbroken. He was so, so lonely...

Gemma didn’t budge or let him go. She just held on and let him cry. She didn’t give him any platitudes either, which he appreciated. She let him be.

He didn’t cry for long. When he was finished, he wiped at his cheeks and took a step back. “Sorry…” He murmured, abashed.

“Don’t be.” She assured and wiped another tear from his cheek. “I told him he was being stupid but I can’t get the idiot to change his mind.”

“You’ve seen him?!” He asked, wide-eyed. He had assumed Connor had refused to add anyone to his list. It seemed like something he would do. To find out it was just him...well...that stung.

Gemma nodded, though looked uncomfortable about it. “A few times now.” She admitted and nervously licked her lips. “He got your letters. He asked me to tell you to stop it and move on.” She continued before he could respond. “But I don’t think you should. I think he’s just...being Connor, you know?”

Oliver scoffed. “Oh yeah. I know.” It didn’t make it hurt any less, though. He wiped at his face one last time before turning and collapsing on the couch. “How’re your kids?” He asked. He needed to stop talking about Connor for a moment.

“Good. They’re good.” She assured. “You…” She paused and moved to sit next to him on the couch. “You know that if you need anything you can call me, right?” She asked, and gently took his hand. “We’re family, Oliver. And I don’t want you to think you have to go through this alone.”

He smiled a bit, even though it felt empty. He squeezed her hand back, anyways. “Yeah, I know.” 

He liked Gemma. He did. But she didn’t understand what this felt like. She wouldn’t unless it was her own husband in there.

She was quiet for a moment, just looking at him. Then, she perked up a bit as if she had a great idea. “Do you know about the first time Connor told me about you?” She asked, her eyes brightening a bit.

Oliver just shrugged and shook his head. He hadn’t thought about it, to be honest.

Gemma pulled his hand a bit so he was facing her more and then put her hand on his shoulder. “It was Christmas like...five? Six years ago…?” She shook her head and waved her hands dismissively. “Whenever. I brought this gift for him; a man, totally hot. Not once all night did Connor even look at him.”

Oliver allowed himself a little smile at that while she continued.

“And trust me, I’ve seen my brother on the prowl before. I know when he’s interested in someone. And this guy was totally his type! I mean, tall, toned, great jaw-.”

Oliver chuckled and shook his head. “I get it!” 

“Right.” Gemma refocused on him. “Point is, this guy might as well have been invisible to my brother. So I pulled him aside and asked him what was up and he said something about ‘being good’ and then he told me he had a boyfriend.” Her tone softened and her eyes got distant as she remembered.

“He looked so dopey. He was trying to stop himself from smiling too much and kept looking away like he was embarrassed. Said the guy’s name was Oliver.” She poked his shoulder a little then and gave him a loving look. “And I knew right then that you were special. That he just adored you.”

He was blushing though he didn’t know why. He knew Connor loved him. He knew that. But the longer he went without hearing from him the more he worried that he might have been wrong and Connor really did want to divorce him.

“We weren’t even dating that Christmas.” He told her.

Gemma looked scandalized. “What?!”

Oliver just laughed and leaned back on the couch as he reminisced. “We had a fight and had broken up.” He kept it vague because, looking back, he wasn’t so sure Connor had even done anything wrong. It had hurt so much then, but they hadn’t said they were exclusive. He should have been more understanding. “But he came back with this awful knit hat from your Grandmother and gave it to me, he wanted to take me out to a nice dinner - try again...” He trailed off, thinking of how nice it was to be chased after like that. 

But that just made him think of how much he missed Connor and his smile faded as the sadness seeped back in.

Gemma lips tightened as she noticed the change in her mood. “Well.” She said, looping her arms through his and resting her head on his shoulder. “It was obvious he was in love with you. And I couldn’t wait to meet you.”

They sat that way for a while, just being together. When she left an hour or so later she promised to keep working on Connor, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. If he couldn’t convince his husband to let him in she never would. So, he’d need an entirely new plan.

* * *

It was silly, really. Childish and corny. But he didn’t care.

As soon as he saw the calendar he grabbed it off of the shelf and took it home. He flipped back through the months, marking off days since Connor went to prison. Then, he ripped the months out of the calendar and meticulously cut out each square until he was left with ‘X’ marked confetti. Next, he wrote Connor another letter. 

He wrote about how wrong Connor was about them. He wrote about how he wasn't sorry for being willing to do anything for him because he loved him. About how that wasn't a sign that they weren't good for each other, but a sign of how deep their love was. He wrote about how every horrible thing they'd both done had brought them closer together and to quit their marriage now would mean it was all for nothing. He spent pages recounting every horrible thought he had and illegal thing he did and why it was okay because it had been to protect _him_. He wrote about how he knew Connor would do the same.

He folded it up and stuck it in an envelope with all the little pieces of calendar confetti and licked it closed. He set it down on the table and then slumped. Why didn't he feel better?

Oliver stared down at it with a frown. This was supposed to be the answer. This was the right thing to do. This was the truth of them.

Wasn't it?

_Pretending._

That's what Annalise had accused Connor of on the stand. That he had only married Oliver to pretend to be a good person. He had assumed, in the heat of the moment and at the offense of his relationship being called into question, that it was to unnerve Connor. That she had only been trying to rattle him. But what if she had been right? What if it _was_ all pretend?

Not because Connor didn't love him, because he knew he did. He _knew_ it. But because Connor wanted so badly to be good and felt like he wasn't. Because Connor wanted them to be normal, and they weren't.

How many times had Connor asked him to stop hacking? How many times had he asked him not to get involved in this case, or that cover-up? How long did he try to convince him not to work for Annalise in the first place? How many times had Oliver ignored his wants...just because it was what _he_ wanted? Because he was addicted to the thrill of it?

Oliver's hands shook as he picked up the envelope and he was surprised to see small spots appear on it. He wiped at his cheeks, shocked at how wet they were. How did this come on so quickly?

He took a few breaths to calm himself down and then swiftly tore open the envelope. He preserved the confetti, because _that_ was who they were. They were two men who could express their love in innocuous things. They were patient. They were steady.

Those pieces of calendar confetti were the truth of them. 

He took out another piece of paper and started a new letter. This time, however, he didn’t ask him to change his mind. He didn't talk about any of the horrible things that had led them here. This time, he just talked about his life.

He talked about work. He talked about how he enjoyed the new flavor of coffee he got that morning. He talked about the throw blanket he wanted to buy for the couch but had convinced himself not to since it was too expensive. He let Connor know about all the little details of his life. Then, he stuffed the letter and all of the calendar confetti pieces into a new envelope. This time, he sealed it with a smile.

It wasn't too late for them to have a normal life together.

* * *

Oliver wasn’t disappointed when he received no answer. He didn’t even bother to check the approved visitor’s list. That wasn't his goal anymore.

Every day, he marked off another day from the calendar and cut it out. Every day he wrote a short letter talking about what he did, and ended it with an ‘I Love You’. He mailed a letter to Connor every single day. He was spending a fortune on postage, but he didn’t care.

For the first time since Connor’s incarceration, he started feeling better. Cutting out that square and writing that letter was the best part of his day. He looked forward to it and found himself smiling as he wrote to him, eager to continue sharing his life with the man he loved.

Months went by with him doing this. Daily letters to his husband that were never answered. He knew Connor was just waiting for him to give up. It was a contest to see who was more stubborn; Connor was going to be disappointed. He would buy as many calendars and stamps as it took, even if he spent the next five years doing it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kind comments everyone!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. I am trying to keep things light. I hope that comes across and is also somewhat enjoyable. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think.

“Here you go, Lover Boy.”

Connor smirked as the envelope was dropped in front of him. “Right on time.” He commented, eagerly grabbing it. Oliver’s letters were always the best part of his day. He set aside the book he was reading and tore open the envelope. He claimed his first prize, the little ‘X’d square that marked another day completed.

It was a few days behind, since Oliver started sending him daily letters it took a few days for them to actually start arriving. He didn’t mind. Each one was still a reminder that, despite how strongly he protested, Oliver wasn’t giving up on him. He couldn’t be sure how to feel about that.

Ecstatic, of course. Partly, anyways. Oliver was the best part of his life and he didn’t _want_ to divorce him. But he also didn’t want the man he loved to spend all this time alone when he could find someone so much better for him. Someone who didn’t drag him down and make him do horrible things. Someone who didn’t almost get him arrested.

He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. He was trying to work on his self-esteem.

He tenderly set the marker aside and pulled the letter out of the envelope. He unfolded it and immediately smiled at Oliver’s familiar hand-writing. He took a moment to just admire it before he actually read it. His husband had neat penmanship; clear, tight lettering that bordered on feminine.

He shifted eagerly as his eyes went to the top to start reading. It was as innocuous as all of his others. Despite having read nearly seven months worth of them, he would never get bored. He loved reading about every little detail of Oliver’s life. 

It had been hard when Oliver first started writing to him. He dreaded getting those letters and seeing first hand how being denied visitation had nearly broken his husband. He’d end up in his cell in tears and had almost relented and added Ollie to the list. However, after the initial pain had subsided, he reminded himself why he had done it in the first place; cut the ties now to save more heartache later.

Five years was a long time, and even when he got out who was to say anything in his life would ever be normal. Even though that was all he wanted, more than anything; to just be normal. And Oliver. He really wanted Oliver. But, eventually Oliver would realize that he wasn’t worth waiting for and that there wasn’t any thrill in the normal life Connor wanted. Eventually, Oliver would leave.

So he had to keep him away. Because then he could pretend that it was his choice. 

But then, Oliver’s letters had changed. He didn’t beg to see him anymore, but he also didn’t leave. He just...talked about his life. His...normal sounding life. And along with them came little pieces of a calendar, each marked off like a countdown.

And as the letters came, day after day, Connor started to feel a little bit of hope that maybe what they wanted wasn’t so different after all. That maybe _he_ was enough thrill for Oliver, and Oliver was enough normal for him.

He hoped so much. Because he really, _really_ wanted Oliver in his life.

The letters hadn’t been enough to change his mind about adding Oliver to the list, though. He was adamant about keeping him away. He would take his self-imposed scraps and force himself to be content because he didn’t deserve anything more.

Connor smiled as he read the most recent letter, Oliver had lunch with his mother. He suspected that she asked about him, but Oliver didn’t say that. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what he would have told her anyways. Then, Oliver had gone shopping and told him about a conversation he’d eavesdropped on between two high schoolers. The argument the two had gotten into was immature and stupid, but it was fun to gossip.

He could close his eyes and pretend he was standing there with Oliver, heads bent together. Oliver would roll his lips into his mouth as he tried not to smile and get a mischievous glint in his eyes. Connor would smirk and pass so many looks at the teenagers that they would probably notice them, but then they’d just share a laugh together. They’d be close enough that he could feel Oliver’s breath on his face.

God, he missed him so much…

There wasn’t much after that. He suspected Oliver wrote these at night just before bed since he always talked about what he made for dinner. Oliver was the better cook between the two of them, since he always opted for take out if it was ever his responsibility. Oliver though...he’d spend hours meticulously preparing the food before serving it with that insecure little smile of his, nervous that Connor wouldn’t like it.

He always did.

Connor spent a few more minutes just admiring the letter before he very gently folded it and slipped both items back into the envelope. Feeling good, he placed a kiss against the paper before collecting his book and standing.

He absently rubbed his ring finger. He still wasn’t used to having naked skin there, even after so long inside. He trusted Oliver to take care of it, but it felt so wrong not to have it.

He frowned slightly and then quietly walked back to his cell.

* * *

Oliver didn’t miss a day with his letters. Not one. Even after two years passed. With each letter came a small calendar square, ‘X’d to mark another day completed.

He would throw out the letters after he read them; not out of any malicious intent, but because he didn’t have the capacity to save them in his cell. The markers, however, he was storing in a shoebox. He would place each one inside reverently, getting happier and happier the more it filled up.

Connor still couldn’t bring himself to add Oliver to the visitation list, though. Now it was more out of fear than anything. He was ashamed that he stopped it in the first place and was terrified of facing him after so much time had passed.

What would he even say to explain? _Sorry I cut you off. I was terrified you’d leave me so I figured I’d leave first?_ Oliver would love to hear that.

He _did_ think about answering his letters, occasionally. Then a small, still self-hating part of him reminded himself that this was his punishment and he didn’t deserve Oliver anyways. No matter how much he struggled to put that nasty little voice away it always wriggled back into his thoughts. 

_Not enough for him._

_Never enough for him._

_He never would have chosen you if it weren’t for everything that happened._

_He will never wait for you._

_He’s going to stop writing to you eventually. Get ready for it._

Connor squeezed his eyes shut and tapped at his temple a few times. “Stop it.” He whispered to himself.

Besides, he didn’t know what he’d say. He didn’t have anything interesting happen to him. He’d made a few friends in prison, but it was strange knowing they were there because they’d broken the law. Connor was a novelty, given his reason for being there was decidedly more unique than the others who were mostly white collar criminals. That gave him some notoriety, though, and meant people were eager to talk to him which he enjoyed.

However, to their disappointment, he mostly talked about Oliver instead of the intrigue of his past. He would go on and on about how wonderful he was and how much he missed him. Everyone knew he was a big sap for his husband but he didn’t care. No one hassled him about it, but he was subjected to plenty of teasing.

The worst of it came from Alan Singer, who he considered his closest friend inside and also happened to have the cell next to him. He was a nice guy. In his fifties, sentenced for tax-evasion. He called Connor several corny names, and joked about the letters, but he never said anything offensive and nothing worse than any of his friends outside had said about how head-over-heels he was for Oliver.

Besides, he was, so…

* * *

“Check.” Connor declared, eyes scrutinizing the chess-board. He’d never been interested in the game before, but there were very few activities inside that were mentally stimulating so he had given it a go after being inside for almost three years, that was six months ago. Turned out, he was pretty good.

Alan scowled and brusquely moved a rook to block his assault, but Connor had already accounted for that and swiftly took it with a bishop. “Check.” He repeated, a knowing smirk on his face. Three moves. He’d have him in three moves. Two, if Alan used his last rook to defend again.

Sure enough, Alan moved his other rook to block Connor’s queen. Connor had a knight set up to take that piece. Alan rolled his eyes and wiped at his face, obviously realizing that defeat was inevitable. Not willing to give Connor the satisfaction of winning, he knocked over his King, surrendering. “Fine. Fine!” He exclaimed good-naturedly.

Connor chuckled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His uniform was buttoned opened over his chest, exposing his white crew-neck underneath. It was surprisingly comfortable.

“It’s not fair. I’ve been playing most my life.” Alan grumbled as he started resetting the pieces.

“What can I say?” Connor boasted and leaned forward to help. “I have a gift.”

He was swiftly distracted by the arrival of the mail-currier. Connor sat straight up and a broad smile broke out over his face. His heart started racing in excitement.

Alan seemed to notice he lost Connor’s attention. “Ahhh, word from dear, perfect Oliver. I wonder what he’s up to today. Picking out new place-mats, or maybe he couldn’t decide which cantaloupe was more ripe so he bought two.” He teased with a kind roll of his eyes.

Connor just smirked. “Ollie doesn’t like cantaloupe.” He corrected.

“Of course he doesn’t.” Alan answered flatly.

Connor chuckled and turned to look at Dominic who was rolling the mail-cart through the rec-room. The man paused but just gave him this awkward look. A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

“Sorry, man.” Dominic murmured, glancing towards his cart. “Nothing for you today.” He quickly left.

Connor just...stopped.

He couldn’t process what had just happened. How was there no letter? There was always a letter. For over three years he’d been getting them. There was no way Oliver would just stop. Not without saying something. Would he?

_I knew it._

“Hey.”

He was staring with his mouth slightly agape, right at the spot Dominic had been standing. This wasn’t real. Just a bad dream.

_I knew he would give up on me._

“Connor.”

His chest hurt. His stomach was tight. It felt like he couldn’t move. God, he couldn’t move! Would he be stuck like this forever?!

_I’ll never be enough for him._

“Hey!” Alan slapped at his shoulder and jostled him.

Oh. So he could move. That was good.

He slowly turned and looked over at the man. Alan just gave him a smile, overly calm and trying to be helpful. “I’m sure it’s just a routing fluke. You’ll probably get two tomorrow.” He assured.

Right. Of course. That made sense. A lot more sense than Oliver just stopping. He found himself nodding along. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s what it is.”

“Come on. Let’s play again.” Alan suggested, finishing putting the pieces back in their places.

Connor leaned forward and noticed that most everyone else in the room was glancing his way. They all knew - everyone knew - he got letters everyday. What were they thinking now?

He swiftly hid his hands when he realized they were shaking. Alan was right. It was just a fluke. It had to be a fluke.

Alan decimated him in their next game.

* * *

No letters came the next day, or the day after that.

Then it was the weekend and letters weren’t delivered again until Monday.

Monday came; letters didn't.

* * *

He started getting sympathetic looks from the other inmates. He tried to avoid them as much as possible now because he couldn’t handle the pity in their eyes. He knew what they were all thinking.

Connor Walsh had joined the ranks of men left by their partners who couldn’t handle it. Alan’s wife of 30 years lasted three months before leaving him for a younger man. Dominic’s girlfriend lasted six months before calling it quits. Henry Cabot, who was four cells down, had a boyfriend of three years who dumped him only two weeks after he got in. On and on the list went. The prison was full of men who had been left to handle this alone.

Connor hadn’t been one of them. He _wasn’t_. Because Oliver wouldn’t leave him. Right?

But then why did the letters stop?

* * *

Another finally came on a Wednesday over a week after they stopped. It was a single envelope, which meant it hadn’t been routing flukes preventing the letters from getting to him as he’d hoped. That hurt, but at least he would get some kind of explanation now.

He just stared down at it though. He was afraid of what that explanation might be. Did Oliver meet someone else? Had he finally gotten sick of not hearing anything back? Was he...sick? 

Thoughts raced around his head over and over as he continued to sit and stare. He had gotten it in the middle of the rec room so he knew that, once more, everyone was looking at him. He didn’t think he could bear it if it was bad news.

Alan glided into the seat across from him and took the envelope from his hands. Connor frowned over at him but didn’t stop him. The man shook it a bit and to Connor’s relief he could hear pieces of paper sliding against each other inside. So there were still markers. That had to be a good sign, right?

“Want me to look at it?” Alan offered.

Connor continued to stare at the envelope and rubbed at his ring finger again. Oliver loved him. Right? Yes. Oliver loved him. He knew that. Well, he hoped that. And right now all he had was hope. But hope didn't make him brave and he couldn't look for himself. So, ashamed, he dipped his head and nodded to Alan.

The man carefully ripped it open and took out the letter before dumping the calendar squares out on the table. Alan knew about them, but still gave them an odd look as he shifted them around a bit. Suddenly protective of them, Connor swiftly reached across and pulled them over to his side. Those were not for anyone else to touch. Alan gave him a knowing look and instead unfolded the letter.

Connor held his breath and watched for Alan’s reaction. It was surprisingly quick. The man rolled his lips into his mouth and sighed just a second after opening it. Connor furrowed his brow. This was bad. Was Oliver actually breaking up with him? Why else would Alan look like that?

He looked down at the markers in front of him and touched them reverently. Were these the last ones he was going to get?

Alan took the letter and slid it across the table. “Read it.” He urged quietly.

Connor’s hands were shaking as he picked up the piece of paper. It was only two lines.

_‘My father died._

_I love you’_

Connor sagged when he read it and closed his eyes in sympathy. _‘Oh Ollie…’_ He thought. He wanted so badly to be there with his husband right now. Oliver loved his father so much. He looked up to him like an idol. Connor knew this must be so hard on him. He wished he could just take him in his arms and hold him until it didn’t hurt anymore.

Oliver loved being held. _Spoon me,_ he’d always ask in a soft, insecure voice like it wasn’t okay for him to want that. And there was no one there to do it for him now…

He slowly collected his things and nodded in Alan’s direction. “Thanks…” He murmured, before returning to his cell. He carefully placed the calendar pieces into the same used shoebox he had all of the others in and then laid down on his cot.

Connor took the letter and held it on his chest before very carefully pulling his blanket up over his head. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that Oliver was there with him in their safe bubble. When that wasn’t enough he took his pillow and clutched it to him tightly, turning on his side. He tried to imagine he was comforting Oliver. It wasn’t the same, of course, but he had to try.

He cried very quietly for him. He laid there for hours, but he never ended up feeling any better.

* * *

The letters picked up every day again which meant that Connor was spared further looks from his fellow inmates. They asked what had happened but when it was revealed that Oliver hadn’t had some torrid love affair or wanted a divorce they quickly moved on to juicer topics. Connor never felt any better about it though. He could tell Oliver wasn’t okay.

The letters were shorter now, usually only a few sentences. About every other day the paper had tear stains on it. Connor’s heart ached for him.

_‘My mom decided to come stay with me awhile. I think she’s lonely._

_I love you’_

_-_

_‘My mom has too many plants. They stink up the apartment._

_I love you’_

_-_

_‘Went for a walk with my mom today and saw a cute dog. Can we still buy an entire shelter? I want them all._

_I love you.’_

_-_

_‘Lawyer stopped by today with things for my mom to sign._

_I love you.’_

_-_

_‘Today was hard._

_I love you.’_

-

_‘I broke a plate today so I went and bought an entirely new set. I gave the old ones to the family next door._

_I love you.’_

Connor wanted so badly to be there with him. He knew Oliver, so he knew that when he was upset about something he focused in on it and let all other things drift by the wayside. He knew he wouldn’t take care of himself. So he wanted to be there to take care of him.

He wanted to handle all the legal stuff, so he wouldn’t have to worry that his mother got everything she deserved; cook for him, so he got plenty of good food; take out the trash and clean up, so he didn’t have to; make the bed and fold the laundry, so he’d have clean clothes and a comfortable place to sleep; field calls from family members and friends offering condolences, so he could mourn how he wanted. Connor wanted to take care of every little thing so that Oliver and his mother could just focus on healing. 

But he wasn’t there. He couldn’t be there.

Two weeks after getting these kinds of letters Connor had enough and went to the administrator. She was nice, a middle-aged woman named Jenny Brooks. Though, the prison was pretty strict about inmates getting buddy-buddy with employees so he didn’t know her well. 

“I’d like to update my visitor’s list.” Connor announced as he stood outside of her stall. It was about waist high but his side was separated by bullet-proof glass.

Jenny gave him a knowing look and smiled a bit. “About time.” She turned slightly and started typing at her computer. “I’ll need to collect some of his information. Then we’ll reach out to him and he’ll need to sign something authorizing us to run a background check. Should only take a few days.”

Connor nodded and told her everything she needed; it wasn’t much because apparently they already had a lot on file since Oliver was his emergency medical contact. When it was done he went back to the library to try and distract him from the wait.

* * *

A few days later a paper was attached to his daily letter. He furrowed his brow and pulled it off of the paper clip.

**REQUEST FOR THIRD PARTY VERIFICATION SERVICE**

Connor scanned the document a bit, realizing it was the prison’s authorization form Oliver needed to sign for them to run the background check. Only, he hadn’t signed it. He saw girly handwriting on one of the margins that he assumed belonged to Jenny.

_‘Subject rejected request._

_Reason provided: Does not wish to be added to visitor’s list’_

Oliver didn’t want to come see him? Connor had assumed he would have jumped at the chance - raced right over to the prison. 

He felt rejected. It gutted him. He felt invisible, all of a sudden. Like he’d imagined this entire marriage that never really happened.

He wondered if this was how Oliver felt when he realized Connor denied his spot on the list in the first place. If so, he was a bigger asshole than he thought because this _hurt_.

All of those nasty thoughts came rushing back full force. _Not enough. He'll leave you. He doesn't want you._

* * *

The letter that referenced the rejected application came three days later. He expected it to be a farewell, that Oliver decided it wasn’t worth it. A recrimination about how he had asked for this in the first place and shouldn't complain about it now. How he shouldn't have expected him to wait without even a single word from Connor in years. About how hurt and angry he was. 

Instead, it was only six words.

_‘We got this._

_I love you.’_

Connor hung that letter on his wall. 

Then, he sat on his floor and pulled out his shoebox. Meticulously he counted every marked day, stacking them carefully in piles of ten. One by one he counted, making sure not to crinkle or rip any of the pieces. He treated them like little treasures, because that’s what they were. Little pieces of Oliver’s heart spread out over his cell floor.

It took him nearly an hour, but when he was finished, he smiled. 

1,261 pieces. 

1,261 days Oliver had chosen him.

565 more to go.

When he finished counting he put them back in the shoebox and then reached his hands inside. On a whim, he pulled some out and held them up over his head. Then, he let them go, watching them flutter back down with a chuckle.

It looked like confetti. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short epilogue will follow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I HAD meant for the epilogue to be short. Then it went and grew its own legs. I like it better this way though. So I hope no one minds the length!

Oliver frowned as he looked at himself in his standing mirror. He tried straightening his tie, before huffing and removing it all together. He tilted his head as he eyed himself again, still not satisfied. His shoulders slumped and he turned away from the mirror in frustration, pacing in his room back and forth.

“This is stupid. You’re being stupid.”

* * *

“This is so stupid…” Connor commented as he watched the guard sweep his room. “What would be the point?”

“Sorry, Walsh. Protocol.” He answered in an understanding voice.

Connor sighed and remained placidly standing next to the second guard, arms folded over his chest. His leg shook as he tried to contain his nerves. It had nothing to do with the search of his room.

“Hey,” he started as the guard knelt down by his cot. “I’m allowed to take things, right?”

* * *

“Should I take him something? Like...Food or-?” Oliver was interrupted.

“Food? You think they haven’t been feeding him this whole time?” Gemma asked with an incredulous look. 

Oliver lifted his arms up helplessly. “I don’t know. He hasn’t had a Big Mac in a while. Maybe he wants one.”

“He’s never had a Big Mac in his life.” Gemma replied with a chuckle.

Oliver frowned, a bit defensively. “Sure he has. We’d get junk food every once in a while.”

“Huh. Go figure.” Gemma responded easily.

“Flowers!” He exclaimed, spinning back at her with excited eyes. “How about flowers?”

* * *

“How about this? I can take this, right?” Connor asked, nervously picking up his shoebox. It had already been searched even though the entire prison probably already knew what was inside.

The guard nodded, standing up from his searching under the mattress. “Sure. Any personal items.” He assured.

Connor held it to his chest protectively.

The guard motioned for him to go to the door of his cell. “That’s everything.”

* * *

“That’s everything, right?” Oliver asked as he and Gemma walked down the stairs of his apartment building, each carrying a box.

“Yes! Stop worrying. I got it all handled.” She jostled his shoulder. “Just be at The Clairemont after five and it will all be set up for you.”

“And -!” Oliver turned and stopped abruptly to keep asking questions, only for her to give him a stern look.

“I’ve taken care of _everything_ . I even got him to start taking PrEP again last month so there’ll be _no_ issues.” Gemma boasted.

Oliver nodded and looked down self-consciously. "If he even wants to get back together..."

Gemma scoffed. "Why would he start taking it if he didn't? He loves you. He misses you." She sounded so confident, but Oliver couldn't help the little worry in his heart that Connor would still want to go through with the divorce.

He managed to give her a shaky smile. "Yeah. I'm sure you're right." He agreed weakly.

“I know I'm right. I’m a genius. You’re really lucky we’re related, you know.” Gemma bragged confidently.

Oliver agreed. “I am really lucky.”

* * *

“I’m really lucky.” Connor murmured slowly buttoned up his shirt. Gemma had come by about two months ago with everything he could possibly need upon release. It had been held for him by the prison and now that he’d gotten it back it felt strange. He wasn't used to having possessions, especially nice ones. He’d been led to a private room to change in and looked at himself in the mirror.

He didn’t recognize himself. Which was odd, he thought, because he looked the same. But...he didn’t _look_ the same.

It had only been four and a half years. He hadn’t aged that much. And of course he had seen himself in a mirror plenty of times while inside. But...now it was different. He tilted his head back and forth with a frown.

“Stop being stupid.” He told himself and abruptly grabbed his things. “We got this.”

* * *

“We got this…We got this…” Oliver kept repeating to himself as he pulled into the prison parking lot.

This was his first time here and it felt so strange to see it after all this time. The prison had always just been an address on an envelope to him. Now, it was this massive, imposing looking complex. He frowned over at it as he slowly got out of the car.

He’d already been informed to wait in the lot for Connor to come out. So, he stood by the outside of the car and looked over at the doors. He was terrified. 

This would be the first time they will see each other in four and a half years. What would Connor think? Would he still find him attractive? Would he be disappointed it was him here and not Gemma like he expected? Did he care about his letters? Was he mad he chose not to come visit?

He just didn’t want to ruin it. Things were working. Sure it was unconventional, but it was working. At least, he thought it was. Maybe Connor was angry though.

He started pacing back and forth in front of the car. He had his hands in his pockets and was chewing on his bottom lip.

He berated himself for his nerves. “Calm down! Come on, Hampton.”

* * *

“Come on, Walsh. Calm down…” He muttered to himself. He was shaking with nerves as he stood before R&D - Receiving and Discharge. He had been there only once before, the day he arrived. For some reason, he was so much more afraid than he had been that day.

The R&D Agent waved him forward and he was asked a series of questions. Social security number? Date of Birth? New residential address?

The agent paused when he answered. “That’s not a halfway house.” He pointed out. He sounded more curious than anything.

“No. It’s my husbands apartment.” He provided. 

The agent paused for a moment, looking down at the papers in front him. “A halfway house is recommended. A lot of people struggle with adjusting to life outside.” He sounded like he was trying to be helpful.

Connor just shook his head. “Well, I’m married. So, I’m going to be with my husband.” He said, wishing he sounded more confident. He wasn’t sure where this insecurity was coming from. Oliver had continued sending him a letter every day up until about a week ago. Though, as detailed in the final letter, that had been because he was afraid some might arrive after Connor was already released.

So there was nothing to be afraid of. Oliver had waited. All 1,642 days - he ended up getting six months off for good behavior. He shook the shoebox a bit and listened to the pieces shift around with a tender smile.

“Alright.” The agent dropped it and wrote down some things on the form. “Here.” He said when he was finished, closing a folder and holding it out to Connor through the slat. He took it, placing it on top of his shoebox. “Your release papers. There’s also a Visa prepaid card in there with the remaining balance of your earned funds.”

“Thanks.” Connor said and remained standing, awaiting further instructions.

The agent looked at him for a moment before giving him a bit of a smiling and motioning to the door behind him. “You’re free to go.”

Connor turned and looked at it, letting go of a heavy breath. He put a shaking hand on the door and closed his eyes. “I'll see you soon, Ollie.”

* * *

“It’s got to be soon…” Oliver murmured, glancing down at his watch. He kept pacing back and forth, wondering what was taking so long. His heart was still pounding in his chest and he was ringing his hands together. 

Maybe he had misunderstood. Maybe he _was_ supposed to go inside and Connor couldn’t leave until he came and got him. What if he was sitting in there wondering why no one had shown?

He turned abruptly towards the prison and then just as quickly stopped.

There he was. As beautiful as he remembered.

“Connor?”

* * *

"Oliver?" Connor asked upon hearing his name. He was stunned.

His mouth fell open and he stared, afraid that if he blinked or looked away this figment of his imagination would disappear.

Oliver slowly smiled over at him, but it was uncertain; reminiscent of the very first smile he ever gave him in that bar so long ago.

“You’re really here?” Connor asked, somehow regaining the ability to move. He stepped closer to him until they were just a foot apart.

Oliver nodded and looked down at his feet. Connor’s heart skipped a beat at how adorable that was. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

“Is that okay? That’s its me, not Gemma?” He asked quietly.

“Of course.” He answered in his own whisper.

He felt overwhelmed by Oliver’s presence, but there was no one he wanted to see more. He just didn’t know what to do. He wanted to grab Oliver and hold him, and never let go. He wanted to kiss him until they both ran out of air. But he was holding things in his hands and his body was so tense with nervous energy that he couldn’t move. It didn’t seem Oliver could either.

A beat passed of them just standing there, until Oliver raised his gaze again and they locked eyes.

Everything just fell right back into place.

Oliver’s hands were suddenly on either side of his neck and bent swiftly, capturing his lips. Connor nearly dropped his things, but managed to keep a hold of them while tilting his head up a bit to kiss him back. It was even better than he remembered. His lips were soft but firm and insistent against his own. Even though it felt familiar he still felt his body tingle in excitement.

When Oliver moved away Connor let out this unexpected whimper. It felt like he’d just been deprived of some integral part of himself.

“Come on.” Oliver said, stepping towards the car.

“Are we going home?” Connor asked, following after him. Oliver opened the passenger door for him and he lingered by it for the answer.

“Tomorrow. Tonight I...I wanted to surprise you.” Oliver admitted tentatively.

Connor just smiled. “With what?”

“You’ll see. Come on.” He urged again, motioning to the seat. “I’ll show you.”

Connor hesitated one second longer, only so he could steal another kiss from Oliver. Then he slid down into the seat and let Oliver shut the door for him. He was still clutching his things to his chest. His eyes were trained on the prison gates.

He kept waiting for guards to run out and stop him or alarms to start ringing. However, as Oliver started the car and drove away, the prison got smaller and smaller, and no one came after him.

And no one would. It was over.

* * *

“So, I was thinking about how our wedding night kind of got...ruined.” Oliver said after a brief pause, not wanting to linger on the events of that night. He slid the keycard into the lock and pushed the door open for Connor. “So, I wanted to do something for us. To have a real one. That is, if you still want to be married, I mean.”

His words didn’t seem to be coming out right. Oliver shook his head in frustration and blushed. But then Connor put a hand on his cheek and he relaxed instantly.

“Let’s go inside.” Connor suggested, absently rubbing his cheek with his thumb.

Oliver let Connor go in first and followed, carrying the light duffle bag he’d packed for the both of them. Once he got through the threshold he took in the room, smiling brightly. Gemma really had gone all out. 

Rose petals were strewn all over the room and some were shaped into a large heart on the bed, just like their original wedding night. Candles were lit on various surfaces and a fire was going in the fireplace. Oliver wasn't concerned, as he knew the front desk had rang her as soon as they collected their keys so the fire hadn't been left unattended long. A bottle of champagne was sitting in ice and there were two flutes next to it. There was a spread of various chocolates and fruits. Quiet, romantic music was playing.

He watched Connor step further inside and his heart started pounding. He hadn’t said he still wanted to be married. All he had said was to go inside. What if…?

“Do you hear that?” Connor asked, turning around to face him. There was a sly grin on his lips.

Oliver was at a loss, however. “The music?” He asked. Of course he heard it.

“No, no.” Connor shook his head and his smile grew wider. “No phones going off. No one bugging us. No one taking away what was _supposed_ to be the best night of our lives.” There was a hint of bitterness in his tone but it quickly fell away when he continued. “So let’s do it right this time.”

Oliver’s worry slipped away like it had never even been there at all. He smiled, dropped the duffle bag, and closed the distance between them.

* * *

“How’d you manage all this?” Connor asked a few hours later as he and Oliver reclined in front of the fire, his head was resting on Oliver’s stomach. He was munching on a chocolate covered strawberry. “Get all of this set up and pick me up.” He elaborated, using one hand to wave vaguely at the room. They wore only boxers and their bodies still had sheens of sweat from hours of love making.

“Gemma did all of this for us.” He explained. Connor felt one of Oliver’s hands start carding through his hair and he got chills all over his body.

He closed his eyes and sighed contently. “That’s nice of her.” He murmured drowsily.

He realized, distantly, that he shouldn’t feel so happy. He’d heard hundreds of stories of ex-convicts getting released and just not being able to adjust to life outside. They couldn’t find any joy, or any place for themselves. He’d been warned even as he walked out the door just a few hours earlier.

But he didn’t feel any of that. All he felt was content. Like, he was finally where he really belonged. And _light_. He felt so light. A huge burden had been lifted off of him. He could just _be_ with Oliver without worrying when he would get caught.

“Yeah. She’s been great.” Oliver agreed, his voice also sounding distant and sleepy. But then, suddenly, he gasped and shot up. “Wait. I have things for you.”

Connor had to move his head out of the way as Oliver rushed to his feet. He watched, surprised, as he hurried to the bag he’d brought and started rummaging through it. “It can wait.” He insisted, somewhat pouty. He’d been really comfortable.

“No, it can’t.” Oliver disagreed and then came back towards him. He knelt down next to him so Connor sighed and got up on his knees as well. _‘Best appease him for now.’_ He thought. _‘He won’t let it go.’_ As soon as he thought it, he smiled. It was so familiar, seeing Oliver like this; worked up over something. 

He had a few things in his lap and Connor already recognized them all. Oliver first held up the manilla folder he had presented to him before he was arrested. He was sure the divorce papers were still inside. He couldn’t believe Oliver had kept them all this time. He felt like a jerk…

“Don’t ever do this to me again.” Oliver’s voice was low and shook with old hurts. He then turned and tossed the folder into the fireplace.

Connor leaned a bit to the side so he could watch it burn. “I didn’t mean it.” He murmured, blinking back tears that came on very suddenly. “You know I didn’t mean it, right?” He took one of Oliver’s hands and held on tightly.

Oliver nodded slowly. “I know. I knew then, too.” He used his free hand to wipe at the tears on his cheek.

“I love you.” Connor proclaimed firmly. Oliver may have known it was a lie when he said it, but it still had to hurt. It would have hurt him. It would have broken him, if Oliver had told him he didn’t love him. “I loved you every day I was in there. And it just grew stronger, Ollie. I love you _more_ now than I did then. I...I love you.”

Oliver was nodding and leaned in to give him a chaste kiss. “I love you too.” He answered. “And, me too. I mean...I don’t know why. But every day I sent you one of those letters I felt this love grow more and more. That’s why I didn’t come, when you asked.” He explained, lacing their fingers together. “I hope you understood that.”

He hadn’t then, but it didn’t matter. It had worked. Who knows how they would have reacted, seeing each other again for the first time when he was still trapped inside. This way, when he was really free, felt so right. He looked down at their locked hands and smiled a little.

Oliver’s gaze followed his and then he jumped a bit. “Oh. Right. Here.” He said, letting go of his hand to hold out a ring box.

Connor took it gently, popping it open with a grin. His wedding ring was tucked inside, shining and perfect. “Put it on me.” He requested quickly. Holding the box and his hand back out to Oliver.

* * *

Oliver grinned at Connor’s excitement at seeing his ring again. He took the box and extracted the ring reverently. He then took his husband’s lightly shaking hand to still him, and slid it back where it belonged. He would probably never tell Connor this, but on some of the hardest nights, when the loneliness was strongest, he would hold the ring in his hand and stare at it as he fell asleep.

He watched Connor touch it immediately once it was back on his finger. He twirled it around a few times and then opened and closed his hand, like he was testing the feel of it.

“I missed it.” Connor admitted, rubbing it as he spoke.

Oliver just let him be for a moment. They were in no rush. They had the rest of their lives. So, he calmly held the final gift, a small white envelope, in his hands while Connor admired his wedding band. 

When his husband looked back over at him a few moments later, he just smiled. “Here. The final days.” He said, holding out the envelope. “Gemma told me you’ve been keeping them. So, I wanted to make sure you got every one.”

Connor took the envelope slowly and just held it for a moment. It wasn’t sealed, so he popped it open and counted out the last few markers. “Stand up.” He announced, rushing to his own feet quickly.

“What?” Oliver asked, confused. He followed suit but stared at Connor with a single eyebrow raised. “What are you-?”

“Wait there!” Connor exclaimed, grabbing the shoebox he brought with him. Oliver could see inside and his heart melted a little when he glimpsed all the little white squares. Connor added the final few in with the rest, then grabbed a bunch of the flower petals from the bed and mixed them in the box.

“Connor…?”

“Hold on!” He insisted, reaching across the bed to grab some more. “Okay. Okay.” He took the box and walked back over to him, shaking it back and forth gently. He stood in front of him and then looked up into his eyes with a smile. “Oliver.” He started as he straightened his back and held his chin up high. “You chose to love me every day for 1,642 days, without a single expectation from me.”

Oliver blinked as tears started wetting his eyes, but he didn’t look away.

“In return, I promise to choose _you_ every day for the rest of my life.” Connor declared. “I promise to make you feel as important as you made me feel every one of those days. I promise to be there for you, every day. And support you. And cherish you.” Connor’s voice started cracking a bit as he started crying too. “I promise to love you, Ollie.”

He couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and kissed Connor with as much passion as he had in his body. He grabbed his waist and pulled him close, desperately devouring his mouth. Then, he felt something fall over his head. 

He slowly leaned back and watched all the little pieces of calendar confetti, sprinkled in with rose petals from the bed, fall around their heads. Connor had dumped it out over them. He watched them fall from their heads, to their shoulders, and eventually the ground.

Oliver felt so overwhelmingly happy in that moment that all he could do was laugh. Connor wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed their foreheads together, laughing right along with him.

* * *

**Ten Years Later**

The house was bustling with morning activity.

Children grabbing lunchboxes from the counter. Fathers exchanging briefcases that they had switched on accident. A golden retriever excitedly weaving between legs.

The house was clean, but had an untidiness to it that denoted it was well-lived in. Blankets were tossed haphazardly on a couch. Shoes were piled by the front door in no particular order. Stray toys were littered up the stairs. Half-eaten breakfasts were spread across the island in the kitchen. The fridge was covered in craft paper, pictures, and magnets. Family photos were hung on the walls and some were slightly askew.

The fireplace was the heart of the living room. A recliner was in front of it, large enough for the entire family to curl together in front of a fire. The couch was flanked by two arm chairs but both were currently covered in books and stuffed animals. Tucked to one side was a dog bed. 

On the mantel were several decorative pieces, and a glass vase directly in the middle, clearly intended to be the centerpiece. In it were 1,642 scraps of paper; each one marked with an ‘X’. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! I hope you all enjoyed. Thanks again for your feedback. I'm sure I don't need to tell anyone how hard it can be to put your work out there. So thank you all for making my first go-around so great!


End file.
